


Everything else is Homicide

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Homicide: Life on the Street
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 3 years on the run, it's time for Frank Cantwell to answer for the murder of Detective Beau Felton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything else is Homicide

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Kweevil, as always, for having my back. 
> 
> Written for lovelokest

 

 

Kay Howard takes a deep breath of cold air. In the distance, she can see the Water Taxi tracing its silvery route over the gunmetal harbor. Over by Henderson's, a few people already have their boats decorated for the Christmas regatta. The year's almost over. Maybe with a nice little present under her tree from the brass. 

A couple of quick tugs and Kay's hair comes out of its tight chignon. Her feet are killing her, but she can't take the time to go home and change out of her interview suit. She'll tough out the rest of her shift in a pencil skirt and fitted jacket. It'll all be worth it in the end, right? 

Kay is ready to go back to Homicide. Ready to command her own shift of detectives. Ready to start working for God again. 

Sure, the Fugitive Squad has its moments. Like when they hauled in that rich bastard. He had wanted to trade in his wife for a younger model, so he drowned her in the pool to avoid paying alimony. He managed to convince a judge to let him out on bail for his company's board meeting, then hopped the corporate jet to some Caribbean tax haven. It had taken months to trace the son of a bitch, but Kay and her guys had done it. Got a special commendation from the Mayor. 

But those moments are few and far between. Most days it's glorified skip tracing. And Kay knows she's better than that. She just hopes the bosses will see it that way.

"Sergeant Howard!" Meldrick Lewis hurries across the blacktop of the stationhouse roof, his long overcoat flapping in the breeze. "First of all, may I say, ma'am, and with all due respect, hubba hubba."

"Screw you, Meldrick." Kay shivers a little. There's a wicked wind off the Patapsco. "What's up?"

Lewis tilts the brim of his hat up to get a better look at Kay. "The bosses are gonna have to give you that promotion if you went in there looking like that."

"They're all men, so you might be right." She slips one foot out of its shoe and wiggles her toes until she can feel them again. "So what do you want, huh?"

"Got a little surprise for you, Kay." Meldrick beams. "A genuine Christmas miracle, name of Frank Cantwell." 

"The guy who killed Beau?" One foot in the air, Kay steadies herself on Meldrick's arm. "Where is he?"

"Central Booking. State police picked him up on the beltway in Virginia--get this--driving a stolen vehicle." 

"Son of a bitch!" Kay shoves her foot back into its prison and starts running toward the building. "We looked under every rock for that bastard. Had BOLOs with the Feds and Interpol for the last three years, and he turns up a hundred miles from here in a stolen car?"

Meldrick shrugs. "I guess it's like Pembleton always used to say--crime makes you stupid."

****

The news spreads through the Crimes Against Persons division like a brush fire. Everyone knows the Felton case. The ones who remember Beau might admit that he hadn't done much to distinguish himself in Homicide. But he was one of them and he'd been murdered in the line of duty. 

Leaving Beau Felton's murder unsolved for so long was an embarrassment. More: It made you wonder if the same thing might happen to you one lonesome night when they chalked your ass off. Getting killed on the job was one thing. Knowing the scumbag who did it was walking the streets and breathing free air while you moldered in whatever box the department saw fit to drop you in, was quite another. 

The prospect of closing the Felton file for good puts a spring in the step of even the most jaded homicide cop. Judy, the long-suffering day shift secretary, opens a new box of white board markers. She wants to be the one to write Felton's name up in black. When the uniforms in Central Booking realize who they've got in the holding cell, several of them go down to give the cop killer a ceremonial eyefuck. 

At headquarters, the motor pool sergeant--a twenty-five-year man who'd known Beau back in Billytown--manages to crack a smile for the young punk detective returning a beat-up Cavalier to the garage.

Paul Falsone slips the car into the slot. As he's writing the parking spot number down on the card attached to the keys, he hears the miserable old bastard in the parking kiosk yammering at some poor young uniform who wandered by. Falsone's been in court most of the day. His head's still full of the defense attorney's bullshit cross-examination, so takes a minute for what old Pitbull Pete is saying to sink in. Then a grin steals across his face and he high-fives the Pitbull. "That's the best news I've heard all year."

****

"Absolutely not." Stu Gharty looks up at Kay from behind his desk. "You're not assigned to Homicide, not yet, Kay. And I can't allow you--you, of all people--on this case." 

It's not the desk that Al Giardello sat behind for so many years, but this is the same argument she'd had with the office's previous occupant. Gee's been dead for a year, but he can still piss Kay off. 

She steps hard on her temper. "I understand what you're saying, Lieutenant. But the fact is, I'm the only one left who's familiar with this investigation." 

"Falsone was there, too." Gharty flips open a case file. "And you're forgetting that I had a hand in the matter myself." 

Kay hasn't forgotten. She remembers the night they raided Cantwell's operation down by the shipyard. She remembers the look of mute helplessness she saw on Gharty's face when they found the office empty. She remembers the quiet rage in Pembleton's eyes. And she remembers her own desire to kick something and go on kicking until she couldn't kick anymore.

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I've had an open file on Cantwell down in Fugitive for more than three years." Kay drops a thick folder on the desk. "We've got financial records, witness statements, wiretaps--there isn't time for you and Falsone to get up to speed, especially on a cold case."

Gharty thumbs through Kay's folder, then looks up at her. "I don't need you to tell me I've got manpower issues. I'm retiring in less than a month and I want this wrapped up before I go." He sighs. "I know how you feel about this, but Kay, if I let you in the room with Cantwell, you can forget about sitting in this chair when I'm gone."

"This isn't about office politics!" Kay resists the urge to pull Gharty to his feet by his Sears Best polyester tie and shout in his pasty face. Just barely. She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice. "I have to close this one, Stu. I have to do it. For Beau. For myself." 

"You know, you've got this job in the bag, if you want it." Gharty closes the blue Fugitive file and slides it back across the desk. "I'm not going to let you throw it away--especially over this dunker."

"Well, I am not going to sit by and watch--" Kay began. 

"Look, Kay, we've got Cantwell in custody. We've got Eddie Dugan's affidavit. At the minimum, Cantwell's looking at serious time for the auto theft charges." 

"But the murder charge needs a confession to make it stick." Kay leans forward and puts both hands on the desk. "Just give me ten minutes with Cantwell. I can get him. I know I can." 

Gharty shakes his head. "I can't do it. Look, the State's Attorney will kiss our feet for giving them this conviction. And the bosses will be off our backs for six months after we write Felton's name up in black. We know Cantwell killed Felton. It doesn't matter what we can prove in court." 

"It matters to me," Kay says quietly. "And since Beau was killed under your command, it should matter to you, too."

"Stay away from Cantwell, Sergeant." Gharty stands in an unmistakable gesture of dismissal. "We'll take care of it." 

Kay holds Gharty's gaze for a moment. "You're making a mistake." She turns on her heel--the shoes make that gesture particularly effective--and stalks out of the office. 

"No joy from the boss-man?" Meldrick's at his desk, chewing on a toothpick and trying to make the football stand on one end. 

"Nope." Kay leans against the desk and snatches the football. She twirls it absently, then looks at Meldrick. "You in?"

He sits up straight. "Hey, I can't get involved with--" 

"Nobody's asking you to get involved with anything." With a glance at Gharty's open door, Kay leans closer to Meldrick. "You do the blocking while I run with the ball, huh?"

Meldrick watches as Kay walks away. She drove him crazy when she was his sergeant. And he knows she'll make him even more nuts when she's his lieutenant. He also knows that he'll do whatever she asks him to. Meldrick shakes his head slowly and shifts the toothpick around in his mouth. "Woman's a force of nature, man."

"Who's that, Mel?" Falsone drapes his leather jacket on the back of his chair.

"Don't call me that. My moms named me Mel- _drick_." He scowls at Falsone. "Mel sounds like a piece of fruit or something. And where the hell you been all day?"

****

Back at her desk in Fugitive, Kay grabs the phone on its third ring. It's a tip on the whereabouts of a minor drug lord they've been chasing for weeks. While she's trying to coax the frightened caller to spill a few more details, the squad secretary comes by with a stack of messages. There's a pile of prosecution reports that Kay needs to review and sign. And the new guy's waiting around for her to show him how to use the NLETS database. Kay's own lieutenant is coasting toward retirement and has been letting her carry more and more of the administrative work for the squad. She doesn't mind. Kay has always been able to get through the paperwork fast enough to leave time to do the real police work. And the added responsibility looks good on her sheet when the bosses are considering candidates to replace Gharty. 

But right now, she'd like to make all of it disappear. Kay can't think about anything but getting Cantwell into the box and making him say the words. "I killed Beau Felton." She has to hear him say it. But all she can hear is the whining of this cracked-out snitch and his half-told tales about a hideout in Federal Hill. 

She winds up the call with the informant and logs her notes in the case file. It's a thin lead, but better than nothing. She'll get Morgan to run it down when he gets back from lunch. With a sigh, Kay flips through the pink message slips. It's still lunchtime, so there's no point in trying to return phone calls. Nobody else eats at their desk anymore. 

Kay unwraps her sandwich, pulls the pile of prosecution reports closer, and starts reading. Because Sergeant Kay Howard can't just drop everything and tear down to Central Booking to interview Cantwell, and because much as she hates to admit it, Gharty's probably right. Between the state and federal charges, Cantwell will do some serious time, whether they can prove he killed Beau or not. Besides, this isn't her case anymore. She's not a Homicide detective anymore. She's got her own work to think about and a promotion on the line. 

And maybe the case really is a dunker. It should be open and shut. Kay knows this. But none of it matters when she thinks back on the scene in that crappy Highlandtown duplex. Blood spatter on the wall behind the recliner. Luminol-enhanced spatter all over the bathtub. _Killed him in his own bathroom._ Beau deserved better than that. 

Kay shoves the paperwork away. She has to do something. Despite Gharty's glib assurances, Kay's seen too many cases fall apart because of flimsy evidence or forgetful witnesses. The case against Cantwell has been cold for too long--anything could happen. They need a confession. But despite her bravado with Meldrick, Kay doesn't know how in hell she can get around Gharty on this one. 

She glances at the pile of prosecution reports. _Danvers_. He'd be able to tell her whether they had enough to nail Cantwell. And if Danvers says they need a confession, Gharty can't blow this one off. 

And, after all, Gharty hadn't said anything about staying away from anyone _other_ than Cantwell. Kay shrugs into her coat and waves at the squad secretary. "Tell Morgan we got a tip on LaLane Chester -- I'm going to see the State's Attorney."

****

Frank Cantwell sits at the small table in the blue interview room. He's unshaven, but otherwise well-groomed. Expensive suit, handmade shirt and shoes. Life as a fugitive from justice has treated him well. 

From the window in the interview room door, Meldrick watches as Cantwell examines his manicured hands. "So what's the story, Falsone?"

"Cantwell owned the biggest salvage and wrecking operation in the state--out of which he also ran a major east coast auto theft ring." Falsone taps the case file he's holding. "In addition to what we had on him, the feds had him up for racketeering when he disappeared. Felton's murder is just icing on the cake."

Meldrick shrugs. "Not for Felton, it ain't."

"Alright, Paul, let's get this over wi--" Gharty stops short as he rounds the corner from his office. "Lewis! I...didn't expect you to be here."

Meldrick intercepts a look between Falsone and Gharty. "Is there some reason I shouldn't be here, my esteemed lieutenant?"

"It's just." Gharty shifts his eyes toward Falsone. "This will be a fairly straightforward interview. We already know Cantwell's guilty--and I know you've got other work to do."

"The lieutenant's right, Mel." Falsone smiles. "We've got this scumbag. Just gotta cross the Ts, you know?" 

Meldrick looks from Falsone to Gharty and nods, slowly. "Okay. You got it." 

Gharty watches as Meldrick heads to the men's room. He takes the single sheet of paper that Falsone's holding and opens the door to the interview room. "Let's get this done." 

Meldrick waits a minute before he slips into the observation room. There's something lumpy about this whole thing. Nothing you could point to or explain to anyone else, but it's there. He's been a homicide cop too long not to be able to smell bullshit when it's waved under his nose. 

Through the one-way glass, Meldrick watches as Falsone circles the table. Cantwell is relaxed. The son of a bitch is even smiling.

"So you made Lieutenant?" Cantwell shakes his head like a fond parent. "I never would have thought you had it in you, Gharty. Especially when the Rat Squad suited you so well." 

Falsone smacks the back of Cantwell's head. "Have some respect, dirtbag." 

"Paulie, that was uncalled for." Cantwell smooths his comb-over back in place. "Now you know that I hold you and Stu here in the highest esteem."

"I have to tell you, I was surprised when I heard how they caught you." Falsone leans against the wall and crosses his arms. "You laid low for three years and then, what? You just couldn't keep your hands of a fully loaded SL55?"

"It was parked on my street." Cantwell sighs. "And I've always had a weakness for fine German engineering. What are you driving these days, Paulie?"

"Look, let's just get down to it, Mr. Cantwell." Gharty slides a form across the table and hands Cantwell a pen. "You've been placed under arrest on suspicion of murder. Please sign the form to acknowledge that you understand your rights."

Cantwell signs with a flourish. "I'd like to talk to my attorney now." 

Falsone pulls out a chair and straddles it. "Before we call your lawyer, Cantwell, I just want to make sure you don't have anything to say for yourself." 

"Now, Paulie." Cantwell twirls the pen and looks past Falsone at the one-way mirror. "I think we both know that it's more a matter of what I don't say than what I do say."

Falsone shoots a look behind him, then turns back to Cantwell. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

Cantwell winks at Falsone. "You mean it's not just us in here?" 

"Mr. Cantwell, as I'm sure you know, we're not in a position to discuss any kind of plea bargain you might be hoping for at this point." Gharty stands and collects the pen and the signed form from Cantwell. "We're done here."

"Wait just a minute, Gharty." Cantwell leans back in his chair. "I don't think we're anywhere near done." 

"Let's go, Detective Falsone," Gharty says and turns toward the door. 

Falsone hesitates. "Maybe we should listen to what he has to say, Stu." 

"This isn't the time or the place, Detective." Gharty opens the interview room door. "Mr. Cantwell's going back to the city lock-up. He's the State's Attorney's problem now."

Meldrick ducks out of the observation room and is back at his desk, studying a file with near-religious intensity, as Falsone follows Gharty into his office and shuts the door. He isn't sure what to make of what he's just seen, but it's got a bright red "hinky" sign flashing above it. Gharty was nervous. Falsone was jumpy, but still his usual cocky self. And Cantwell. Meldrick can't make him out at all. 

****

"Gharty's right, Kay." Danvers moves a pile of files off of his guest chair and invites Kay to sit down. "It'll be a fairly straightforward prosecution. Of course, straightforward doesn't necessarily mean successful." 

Kay has her notebook out. "What about that snitch, Eddie Dugan? They've got his sworn statement, but he could change his mind with the right kind of pressure, couldn't he?"

"Witnesses have been known to do that." Danvers blinks tiredly. "And, if I remember right, Dugan wasn't the most credible guy. We're not going to convict Cantwell on just his say-so." 

"That's what I'm saying." Kay stands up and starts pacing. "We've got almost nothing in the way of physical evidence--no shell casings, no murder weapon. Cantwell even took the time to dig a bullet out of the wall in the shower."

Danvers nods. "It's thin, but I've worked with less. The thing is, Kay, there's not a lot you can do about it at this point. Either we have it or we don't." 

"But a confession from Cantwell would seal the deal." 

"A confession's always a nice touch." Danvers sighs. "But if he's as slick as everyone says, he's going to keep his mouth shut until he gets counsel."

Kay glances around the stuffy little office. Its small window faces a concrete wall. Case files are stacked on every available surface and law books overflow from a rickety bookcase. "What the hell are you still doing here, Ed? The private firms must be sniffing around you by now."

"I've had some offers." Danvers grins. "Some of them pretty tempting."

"So what keeps you here?" 

"Why do you want to be a shift commander, Kay?" 

****

Falsone and two uniforms are escorting Cantwell out of the Homicide unit. Meldrick watches for a moment before turning back to the pile of case notes on his desk. He's sorting through witness statements in the untimely demise of one Sterling "Stirfry" Fowlin, Jr. It seems that young Mr. Stirfry caught one upside the head on Hollins Street, after a critical error in judgement led him to make off with a stash of drugs belonging to one Lloyd "Solo" Soloman. 

If the statements are to be believed, Stirfry was shot point-blank by a large Jamaican while simultaneously taking a hit from a "lone gunman" on the roof of a nearby package goods store. Meldrick smiles. It makes a change from the days when nobody saw nothin'. 

He rubs his eyes. _Coffee._ And possibly a doughnut of some kind. At this time of day, there's nothing edible in the coffee room, so Meldrick grabs his coat to head across the street. 

Something on Falsone's desk catches his eye. Without giving himself time to think about whether this is a good idea, he sweeps the Felton file under his coat. At the Daily Grind, Meldrick brings a large redeye and an even larger blueberry Danish to a corner table. He doesn't like this place so much since it went upscale, but the coffee's still good. 

He opens the case file and flips past the crime scene photos and sketches, turning to the daily status reports. It's S.O.P. in a redball--the primary puts together a summary of every lead, every clue, every conjecture at the end of every shift until the case is closed or the heat dies. Frank Pembleton may have been a superior son of a bitch, but he could put together a homicide case file like nobody's business. 

Meldrick can almost hear the frustration in Frank's voice as he reads about the delay in starting the investigation when they thought it was a suicide. As he reads, Meldrick remembers how he felt when he first heard the news about Felton. Another cop eating his gun. Another cop who just couldn't cut it. But it hadn't been that way. A fat, balding car thief had put a bullet in Beau's brain. 

There's a picture of Felton clipped to the inside cover of the file--a photocopy of his police ID card. Felton had been a good-looking guy. That Black Irish combination of dark hair and blue eyes always worked. And Beau knew how to work it. He could turn on the charm when he needed to. Even managed to charm his way into Megan Russert's bed, if the rumors were to be believed. 

Meldrick remembers his run-in with Beau over the Harry Prentice mercy killing. And dammit, he's still pissed off with Felton for asking him to call it a suicide. _You go when you're supposed to go. Everything else is homicide._

It had all seemed so simple and straightforward then. But the years and the endless fall of bodies have blurred the lines in Meldrick's mind a little. His own conscience isn't exactly unsullied anymore. 

He pulls himself back to the task at hand, takes a sip of his coffee and tears a chunk from the Danish. A name catches his eye as he skims the status reports: Paul Falsone. Frank had written up a summary of his interview with the detective from Auto Theft. Falsone had claimed that Beau had been leaking information to Cantwell, tipping him off about police raids. It was Falsone's theory that Felton had killed himself because they were close to exposing him. Or maybe he was overwhelmed by the guilt of selling out his former colleagues. 

But Felton had been murdered. Murdered because someone tipped Cantwell that he was actually working undercover for the cops and the Feds. Probably the same cop who'd been selling intel to Cantwell all along. 

Whoever that was, he was as guilty as Cantwell. 

Meldrick looks out the window. Across the street, he can see the slate-colored water slapping against the pilings of the station house. _Setting someone up to get whacked is as bad as whacking someone yourself._ He sees himself making the phone calls and dropping the hints as drug slingers drop all over the city. 

Meldrick closes the folder. Beau Felton was a cop, not some dope peddling sleaze. Someone set Felton up. He pages through the casefile and pulls Pembleton's notes on another interview. _And someone is going to pay for that._

****

 _Eddie Dugan_ Kay wants to find him and find out whether he'll stand by his affidavit fingering Cantwell for Beau's murder. The state Corrections database doesn't show either a release date for him or where he's currently incarcerated. But a few phone calls trace him to the Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center. 

A slow trip up 295 gets Kay to Jessup with just fifteen minutes to spare before the end of visiting hours. She badges her way past reception and finds herself waiting in a green-painted room with mesh on the windows. The sign on the door labeled it the "Family Room" but the bolted-down chairs and tables aren't exactly cozy. 

It's half an hour before Dugan comes in, escorted by a large orderly. Dugan shuffles into the room under his own steam, but he doesn't seem to know what to do when he gets to the table where Kay's waiting. He stands there for a moment, then the orderly eases him into the chair. 

"Hi, Eddie." Kay smiles into the vacant blue eyes. "I'm Kay." 

"I'm Eddie." Dugan smiles slowly, like he hasn't used those muscles in awhile. There's empty space where Dugan used to sport gold teeth. He's been clutching one of those squeezy balls that people keep on their desks to relieve tension and now he starts to squeeze it with both hands.

Kay looks up at the orderly. "Can you tell me what happened to him?"

"Fight broke out at the city jail." The orderly lays a gentle hand on Dugan's shoulder. "Eddie here got clocked in the back of the head with a piece of wood. He's been here ever since he got out of the hospital. Gets a little violent when he's frustrated, but Eddie's okay."

Kay takes in the shaved head, faded bruises and scarred knuckles. It seems to her that Eddie's anything but okay. So much for getting him on the stand against Cantwell. 

"Eddie." Dugan's gazing intently at the stress ball and rocking slightly in his chair. Kay tilts her head so she can catch his eye. "Eddie, I want you to tell me if you remember Mr. Cantwell." 

"Cantwell." Dugan nods. "Frank Cantwell."

"That's right." Kay smiles. "What do you remember about Cantwell?"

"Pays me $500. Find him a nice ride." Dugan has trouble with the sibilant sounds. 

Kay slides a small photograph across the table. "Do you recognize him, Eddie?"

Dugan's fingers are clumsy, his nails bitten to the quick, but he manages to pick up the photo. He stares at it for a minute. "Felton?"

"That's right, Eddie. That's Beau Felton. What do you know about him?"

Dugan stiffens and stops rocking. He mumbles something and pushes the picture away. 

Kay holds the picture up where Dugan can see it. "Do you remember Beau? Do you remember what happened to him?" 

Dugan is clutching the edge of the table and his breathing becomes ragged. Kay cuts her eyes toward the orderly who pats Dugan's shoulder again. After a few minutes, Eddie picks up the ball in both hands and starts to squeeze it rhythmically. "Cantwell killed Felton."

"That's right," Kay says softly. "Cantwell killed Felton." 

Eddie smiles. "Cantwell killed Felton. That's all you know." 

"That's all I know?"

"That's all you know!" Eddie giggles. "Cantwell killed Felton and that's all you know, Eddie. That's all you know." 

Kay takes Dugan's hand and puts the picture in it, afraid to breathe in case it distracts him. "Who said that, Eddie? Who said, 'That's all you know'?"

"That's all I know." Dugan looks at Felton's picture. He pats it with one finger. "That's all I know, Paulie. That's all I know."

****

There is no sense of the passage of time inside the Baltimore Central Booking and Intake Center on East Madison. The lights are always on in the main lock-up. Prisoners come in and are taken out at all hours, so there's no such thing as night and day. 

Frank Cantwell sits alone in an interview room with flickering fluorescent lights. His lawyer, Darin Russom, has just assured him that the state has no case against him for the murder of Detective Felton. As for the other charges, Russom is confident he can dazzle--or at least confuse--a jury long enough to get an acquittal. 

Cantwell grins at the thought of getting out from the rocks he's been hiding under for three years. He doesn't necessarily believe Russom's self-serving bullshit, but Cantwell has an ace up his sleeve. If he drops that particular F-bomb in court, they'll hand him the keys to the city. 

Behind him, he hears the key rattling in the door. The gorilla from Corrections has arrived to escort him back to the holding cell he'll share with three "white collar" criminals as they await trial. Cantwell turns slightly. "I don't suppose there's any chance of getting a private suite in this joint, is there?" 

"Don't worry, buddy. Where you're going, you'll have all the privacy you want." 

****

Kay isn't all that surprised to see Meldrick huddled on her front stoop when she finally makes it home from Jessup. "Shouldn't you be at the Waterfront or somewhere?"

"Cut the small talk, Sarge." Meldrick slaps his gloved hands together. "You gonna let me in or leave me to freeze my cojones off out here?" 

"Your cojones'd be the last thing that freezes on you, Meldrick." She unlocks the door and invites him in. "They'd go right after your brain." 

A few minutes later, Meldrick's sniffing suspiciously at the mug Kay has handed to him. "What did you say this stuff was?" 

"It's tea, Meldrick. Herbal tea." She stirs some honey into her own cup and sits down at the kitchen table. 

Meldrick takes a cautious sip. "Tastes like...flowers." 

"Brilliant, Detective. It's made from flowers." Kay wonders if she's doomed to wear this pencil skirt for the rest of her life. She wants nothing more than a hot bath and her PJs so she can figure out what in hell to do next. "What do you need?"

"It's about Cantwell." Meldrick begins.

"Look, I told you. I'm not expecting you to--"

Meldrick puts his cup down. "No, it's not that. I, uh, I had a look at Beau's case file today. Swiped it off Falsone's desk." 

"I've seen the file." Kay wraps her hands around the mug. "There's nothing there, nothing that will stand up in court without a confession." 

"Yeah, but it got me thinking." Meldrick stands up and walks across the kitchen to look out the window. "That snitch of Falsone's, Eddie Dugan. He said he tipped Cantwell off about Felton working undercover. And someone else was tipping Cantwell off every time the Auto Squad or the feds got a line on him." 

Kay nods. "I remember. Falsone thought Beau was the leak until we found out he'd been murdered." 

"You ever wonder who that leak was, Kay?" Meldrick turns to face her. "You ever wonder if that leak wasn't the same person who really set Beau up?"

"Eddie Dugan admitted that he set Beau up. Why would he lie about that?"

Meldrick scratches his head. "I don't know, Kay. Why do any of them lie? Maybe to protect someone else. Maybe to protect himself _from_ someone else."

"I just talked to what's left of Eddie Dugan up in Jessup. And he said something. Something that--" Kay breaks off and rubs a hand over her face. "It's probably nothing. I mean the kid's brain-damaged, he doesn't know what he's saying, right?"

Meldrick examines his shoes intently for a moment, then looks up at Kay. "You know, those leaks stopped when the Auto Squad took Falsone off the Cantwell case."

Kay looks up sharply. "Where'd that come from?"

"It was right there in Pembleton's notes. After he talked to Falsone, Frank sat down with Toretto from Auto Theft." Meldrick sips his tea. "The bosses were this close to pulling Falsone's financial records and starting a trap and trace when Felton turned up dead."

"So, what happened?" 

"Cantwell was in the wind. Falsone got rotated into Homicide." Meldrick shrugs. 

"I knew it!" Kay's up out of her chair. "I knew it back then. I knew it the first time I talked to the little greaseball and heard what he was saying about Beau."

"Kay, we can't prove--" 

"I knew it in my gut, but I just put it away. I was too emotional. I didn't trust my instincts. I was just so--" Kay turns away. 

Meldrick goes back to the contemplation of his shoes. He's never been good at this kind of thing. "We gotta do something with this." 

Kay turns back, only the barest hint of redness showing around her eyes. "You got any bright ideas, Detective?"

"I don't know, but if I was Falsone, I would have capped Felton myself." 

****

Something is beeping. The noise works itself into Gharty's dreams as a garbage truck backing up. He's in a narrow alley with a bar at the end of it. Gharty's sitting there having a beer and talking to a girl who looks too young to be at a bar. The truck's still backing up. Gharty yells for someone to get the driver's attention, but the truck just keeps backing up, getting closer and closer. The beeping's getting louder. Now the bar's a crime scene. He's not worried about getting crushed, he's worried about protecting his crime scene. He looks down and the girl is dead on the ground. Gharty yells at the truck driver again, but the beeping keeps getting louder. Now the girl is sitting up and talking, but she's not a girl anymore. It's Frank Cantwell sitting there in the alley. He's yelling now, but the noise of the garbage truck drowns him out. 

The ringing phone jerks Gharty awake. The pager on his nightstand is still beeping. He slaps a hand on it as he answers the phone. 

"It's Barnfather. You better get down here now." 

"What's the problem, sir?" Gharty hates calling this little punk "sir," but he'll do whatever it takes to get his pension and get out. 

"Cantwell's dead." 

****

The hot bath doesn't relax Kay the way it usually does. The TV, playing re-runs of eighties sitcoms, doesn't lull her to sleep. It's one of those nights when every mistake, every error in judgment, every missed opportunity, and every humiliation of her life scrolls through her mind. Everything is there. Like the time in sixth grade when she told Karen Harris that she liked Rudy Burke, and then Karen had blabbed it to the whole school. And the time she spilled a jar of honey into her mom's knitting basket and blamed the dog. 

There are more recent episodes of shame making an appearance as well, including the lingering guilt over the fact that Beau Felton--her partner and her _friend_ \--never got so much as a phone call from her in the last six months of his life. 

The "what ifs" also make an appearance as Kay tries to shimmy into a more comfortable place in the bed. Her cat, disgusted by all this nocturnal activity, decamps to the living room sofa. 

Eventually, Kay gives up on sleep and heads down to the kitchen. She usually bakes cookies at her dad's place on Christmas Eve, but Kay needs some distraction now, needs to be _doing_ something. She mixes, drops, slices, and bakes until she hears her alarm go off in the bedroom upstairs. An hour later, a plate of cookies in one hand, Kay makes her way down Fell Street toward Henderson's Wharf. 

Guilt is a powerful emotion. Kay's guilt over abandoning Beau has taught her that you can't let people just slip out of your life. So she keeps tabs on the ones who've moved on. There are regular e-mails to Bayliss, dinner with Munch every couple of months, phone calls to Pembleton and Brodie, and the odd visit out to St. Michael's to see how Stan's keeping. 

Kay also keeps in touch with Mike Kellerman. But what began as a sense of duty has warmed into friendship and genuine affection. He fills the goofy older brother space that Beau left vacant. But with Kellerman there's something she never had with Beau. And there's a part of Kay that wonders if it could turn into something more, someday. 

Coffee in hand, Kellerman is watching the eastern sky go from slate to coral. He hates these short days and their endless nights. Checking the time and position of the sunrise helps him mark the time until the days start to lengthen again. He turns at the sound of footsteps on the dock. 

"Kay!" Mike watches as she hops over the gunwale--he knows how much she hates it when he tries to help her aboard. "You coming off the night shift?"

Kay hands the cookies to Mike. "You got a cup of coffee for me?" 

In the relative warmth of the cabin, Kellerman slides into the banquette across from Kay and shoves an entire peanut butter cookie into his mouth. "So what's up?" 

"Why does anything have to be up?" Kay brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can't a friend come by with some homemade cookies?"

"Definitely. Always." Kellerman chews, swallows and tops up his coffee. "But you're usually a pizza, beer, and ballgame kind of girl."

Kay raises an eyebrow. 

"Lady." Kellerman amends. "I mean woman. Or maybe I mean Sergeant?"

Kay grins. "Quit while you're ahead, Kellerman." 

Mike helps himself to a piece of shortbread. "I hear you're up for shift commander in Homicide." 

"You hear right." 

Kellerman smirks. "Well, with Captain Gaffney's unfortunate demise, you might actually have a shot at it." 

"The new captain's a lot more progressive. Came down from the Chief's staff, so she doesn't have a lot of history with the personalities in these parts."

"I still can't believe it." Kellerman chuckles. "I always said Gaffney should choke on his own vomit, but sexual asphyxia with a six-foot black transvestite prostitute works even better for me." 

"Mike!" 

"Hey, the truth hurts." Kellerman looks at Kay. She's smiling, but he can see that there's something wrong. "So, you want to tell me what brings you here? I know it's not my crappy coffee."

Kay takes a big sip. She's had worse. "The state cops picked up Frank Cantwell yesterday." 

Kellerman closes his eyes for a moment. "Cantwell. Auto theft ring out of Sparrows Point, right? Felton's faked suicide?"

Kay nods. "The evidence against him is pretty thin, but something came up yesterday."

"Something you can nail the bastard with?" 

"Maybe." Kay turns her coffee mug slowly, avoiding Kellerman's eyes. She doesn't want to bias him. "We might know who fingered Beau for the hit. And if we can flip this...person, we'd have a pretty strong witness against Cantwell." 

"That was the summer I spent in Auto Theft." Kellerman remembers, washing down another cookie with a swig from his coffee. "The place was beyond dysfunctional. Most of the original squad got rotated out, so nobody knew what the hell they were doing. And it was all off of that Cantwell business."

Kay inclines her head and waits to see where he'll go with this. 

He takes another cookie from the plate and breaks a piece off. "There were rumors, but they never knew for sure who the snitch was. Once Cantwell disappeared, the problem went away." He breaks off more pieces of the cookie until there's a pile of crumbs in front of him. Kellerman looks at Kay. "It's Falsone, isn't it? That sleazy bag of fuck!"

"We think so." Kay sighs. "Not that we can prove a damn thing." 

"Who's we?"

Kay shifts a little on the bench seat of the banquette. "Gharty ordered me to stay away from Cantwell, so Meldrick's been helping me out."

"Meldrick?" Kellerman sneers. "Since when does he stick his neck out for anyone?"

"I asked him for help." 

Kellerman sweeps the cookie crumbs into his hand and tosses them in his mouth. "If Meldrick's got your back, you better grow eyes in the back of your head."

"Mike--"

He dusts off his hands. "Hey, I'm just speaking from my own experience here." 

"Yeah, I've heard your tale of woe, Kellerman." Kay slides out of the banquette and straightens her jacket. "But if you can get past your own crap for a few minutes, I could use your help, too." 

Kellerman flushes, starts to say something, then stops. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. "What do you need?" 

"The Auto Theft squad handled the inventories on Cantwell's house and the office at the wrecking yard." Kay drains her cup. "I need to know who was on that detail and see if I can get a copy of the file."

Kellerman grins. "Easy enough. That was my detail. I knew dick about stealing cars, so they had me and Semenski execute the search warrants, and figure out what was evidence and what was just crap."

"You still on speaking terms with Semenski?" 

"You could say that." Kellerman winks at Kay. "And if you're nice, I'll show you the pictures of his ex-wife and his ex-best friend at the Blue Moon Motel." 

Before she can respond, the pager on Kay's belt bleats insistently. She checks the number and dials it when Kellerman hands her his cell. "Meldrick, I got your page. What's up?"

****

They meet at Kay's cubicle in Fugitive. "How did it happen?" Kay's voice is low and urgent.

Meldrick takes a quick look around, but nobody seems to be paying them any mind. It's the same quiet bustle you see in any other squad room. "Looks like the bastard got himself hung. Used his $60 shirt and the doorknob of the interview room." 

"You believe that?" 

He shrugs and picks up the blue crab-shaped paperweight on Kay's desk. "Damned if I know." 

"Son of a bitch." Kay kicks her desk hard enough to make the drawers rattle. A couple of her guys glance up, but Sergeant Howard's temper isn't anything new. 

"We gotta talk to Gharty." Meldrick puts the crab down and glances around the office again. 

"No!" Kay hisses. "We've got nothing but our guts to go on right now." 

Meldrick shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't know about you, but my gut's been doing the cucaracha since yesterday about this. Gharty was there when this whole thing went down. Maybe he knows something we don't." 

Kay closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "You work for him. You think he'll buy this?"

"Hey, for all I know he's just been waiting for someone else to make the connection." Meldrick helps himself to a candy cane from the bowl on Kay's desk. "The man ain't got no heart for confrontation."

****

The HVAC system in the old station house is far from state-of-the-art. It blows hot air in the dog days, and will freeze exposed skin when the outside temperature gets below 50. It's cold in Gharty's office. Kay's pacing near the door with her hands in her pockets and Meldrick's fidgeting in his chair like he wants to get up and start jogging on the spot to stay warm. 

A light sheen of sweat covers Gharty's face. "You are way out of line. Both of you!"

"If you'd just listen--" Kay begins.

"I'm not listening to this bullshit!" Gharty glares at Kay. "You're taking something a mentally retarded scumbag said and building it up into a case against a decorated officer of this police department!"

"Bullshit?" Meldrick makes a sound between a laugh and a snort. "Explain this to me, Stu. Why did the leaks to Cantwell stop when the Auto Squad pulled Falsone off the case?"

"The leaks were investigated. There was no case. Felton's murder was investigated. And Cantwell did it." He slams a hand on his desk. "This stops here!"

There's a moment of silence before Kay speaks quietly. "Well, Cantwell's in no position to argue about that." 

"And neither are you, Sergeant. You haven't got a shred of evidence!" Gharty stands up. "Felton's name is up in black. And I'm not having this conversation again." 

Kay and Meldrick exchange a glance. Kay pulls open the door and heads out into the squadroom. Meldrick watches her for a moment before turning back to Gharty. "I guess the only question left is, who's gonna put Cantwell's name up in black?" 

****

Falsone checks his watch, then grabs a passing diener by the arm. "You know how much longer I have to wait around?" 

The diener eyes the hand on his arm, then looks down at Falsone. "Who you waiting on, Detective?"

Falsone removes his hand and backs up a step. "Cantwell, Frank. Suicide from the city jail." 

" _Apparent_ suicide is what we call it until we cut him." The diener checks his clipboard. "We're pretty backed up--nobody wants to bury their loved ones on Christmas Eve."

"So how long?"

The diener shrugs. "Maybe around six."

Falsone sighs, then grins. "No problem. I can use the overtime." 

****

Meldrick glances around the main entrance of the Central Library on Cathedral Street. With a nod to the security guard, he takes the stairs to the third floor, huffing a little more than he'd like to when he gets to the top. He sees the sign for the Humanities Department and heads inside. 

Kay's at a table behind the stacks. Kellerman's sitting next to her, whispering urgently. He catches sight of Meldrick and looks up. 

"Meldrick." 

"Kellerman." Meldrick nods at Kay. "So what's the emergency? And what the hell are we doing at the library?"

Kay pushes a chair out with her foot. "After we talked to Gharty, I figured we should meet someplace where nobody would see us." 

"The library's the last place you'll see cops," Mike says. "But this place is a gold mine if you're a P.I." 

"Hey!" Meldrick pulls the chair out further and sits down. "I been here before." 

Kay grins. "Doesn't count if you're working a case, huh?"

Meldrick ducks his head sheepishly. "It was that pen freak. Killed some poor bastard on the second floor 'cause he wouldn't lend him his pen. So what are we doing here?" 

Kellerman digs a pile of photocopied sheets out of his laptop bag. "I got Semenski to copy the office reports on Cantwell's house and office." 

Kay pulls a stapled sheaf of the top of the pile and starts to read.

Meldrick looks at the stack without relish and turns to Kellerman. "Steve Semenski? Cement Head?" 

Kellerman nods. "He owed me a favor, but he wasn't too happy about it." 

"How come?" 

"This stuff was down in the basement storage rooms and Cement Head has a thing about, uh, rodentia." Kellerman unwraps a stick of gum then slides the pack over to Meldrick. "He said the box was covered in dust. Nobody's looked at this stuff in years." 

Meldrick's chewing a stick of Kellerman's Doublemint before he remembers how long it's been since he split a pack of gum with Mike. He catches Mike's eye for a moment. "Hey, Mikey--"

"Yes!" Kay shoves a page toward Meldrick. "Check out the inventory from Cantwell's house!"

Meldrick skims the list, then goes back and reads from the top more slowly. He looks up at Kay. "I don't see anything--"

Kay's smile lights up her face. "Exactly!" 

****

Christmas Eve doesn't count for a lot in the Homicide squadroom. Detectives with enough seniority might book the night off unless they're dealing with a fresh murder. The usual suspects are eyefucking each other in the Aquarium. And the tinsel draped over the Board doesn't lend a whole lot of holiday cheer. But there's still something of a festive feeling in the air. The TV in the coffee room is playing _Scrooge_ , the radio on the secretary's desk is tuned to the all-Christmas station, and there's a tree in the corner, decorated with odds and ends fashioned from office supplies, including a long paperclip chain, a few inflated latex gloves, and a garland made from PlastiCuffs.

Kay stands in the doorway for a moment, holding a green folder. Gharty's got his coat and hat on, but has stopped to talk to Rene Sheppard on his way out. Falsone isn't at his desk and his jacket's not hanging on his chair. She scans the room, then heads toward Robert Hall, who's working intently on the communal PC. 

"Hey Bobby!" Kay calls across the room. "You know where Meldrick is?" 

Hall glances up, irritated. "I'm neither his partner nor his keeper, Sergeant. And, if you don't mind, I prefer to be called Robert." 

Meldrick emerges from the photocopy room. "You looking for me, Kay?"

They meet in the middle of the office and Kay whispers something to Meldrick. He steps back and looks at her, then glances around the room. "We can talk in here." 

From across the squadroom, Gharty watches as Meldrick leads Kay into one of the interview rooms and closes the door. Casually, Gharty pats his pockets and heads back to his office like a man who has forgotten his keys. Nobody notices Gharty slipping into the observation room and closing the door.

"...found it in the inventory log for Cantwell's house in Linthicum Heights." Kay hands Meldrick a sheet of paper from her folder.

Meldrick runs down the page with his finger, then stops. "Are you kidding me?" 

"A .22 caliber Beretta found in Cantwell's safe." Kay is buoyant with her discovery. "It was logged and stored, but never processed or tested against the evidence from Beau's murder." 

"Wait a minute." Meldrick looks at her. "They never recovered a bullet from the scene. What are we supposed to test this gun against?" 

Kay rolls her eyes. "Tell the truth, Meldrick. The last time you read the _Law Enforcement Bulletin_ was in the men's room when you couldn't find the sports section of the _Sun_.

"Hey, I keep current with my...um...field." 

"If you did, you'd know that the FBI can do some amazing things with forensics." Some of Kay's hair has come loose from its clip and she pushes it out of her face impatiently. "We bring them the cast from Beau's skull fragments. They scan it with this new laser technique, and they can pull up the characteristics of the bullet that made the hole. They can actually make a replica of the bullet accurate enough to be admissible in court." 

Meldrick grins. "We match that bullet to the striations on Cantwell's Beretta--maybe pull a print or two off that bad boy--and we have a little something they call evidence!" 

"The cold case property room is closed until court's back in session on the 26th." Kay gathers up the contents of her folder. "I say we get over there first thing on Tuesday and get that gun to the lab." 

Meldrick high-fives Kay. "I say Merry Christmas to you, Sergeant Howard!" 

****

Kellerman passes a box of donuts to Meldrick in the back seat of his SUV. "They were out of blueberry-filled." 

"I'm okay." Meldrick puts the box on the empty seat beside him. "Been trying to cut back." 

"A cop without doughnuts?" Kay takes a bite of a chocolate donut with red and green sprinkles. "Can't do your job without the right equipment, Detective." 

Sipping his coffee, Kellerman glances in the rearview mirror. The street outside the Baltimore City PD Property and Evidence Control Facility is dark and empty. It's in an industrial park off the Pulaski Highway, not exactly the focal point of holiday festivities in the harbor town. He puts his coffee in the cup holder and picks up his camera with the telephoto lens, pointing it at the building's entrance and playing with the focus.

Meldrick shifts in his seat. "So, Mikey. How's business?"

Kellerman shrugs. "It pays the bills. I've been doing some pretty steady insurance work. Pay's pretty good." 

"Huh." Meldrick pushes the donut box further away. "How hard is it to get a PI license in this town, anyway?"

"Why?" Kellerman catches Meldrick's eye in the rearview. "You thinking of turning in your badge?" 

Meldrick brushes imaginary lint from his coat. "Let's just say I'm considering my options. I'll have my twenty in before too long. Don't want to end up like...well, I want to get out on my own terms, know what I mean?" 

Kellerman turns in his seat. "You got something to say to me, Meldrick, you just spit it out."

"Hey!" Kay turns away from her vigil out the front window. "Whatever it is, you guys duke it out on your own time. We're on a stakeout here."

"All I'm saying is--" Meldrick begins.

"You've already said--" Kellerman breaks in. 

"Enough!" Kay glares at the two of them. "Just drop it, all right?" 

Kellerman goes back to fiddling with his camera and Meldrick starts digging in the doughnut box. He's about to make short work of a cruller when he sees a ten-year-old Crown Vic pull up in front of the building. "That's him. Kellerman, get a shot of the license plate--and make sure you get one of him going in the door." 

"I've been doing this for awhile, Meldrick. I don't need a back seat PI, okay?" He shoots pictures from the SUV until Gharty goes in the door. 

"It doesn't look like Falsone's with him." Kay puts her coffee in the other cup holder and opens the car door. "It'll have to be enough." 

They move across the street. Kellerman's still got his Nikon around his neck and he snaps a photo of a surprised Gharty coming out of the Property and Evidence Control Division...empty-handed.

"What the hell?" Gharty blinks as the flash temporarily blinds him.

"We got you, Gharty." Meldrick grins. "In living color." 

"Lewis! Howard! Kellerman? What the hell is this?" Gharty looks around wildly, as if expecting hell's own fury to leap out from the shadows. 

"I'd call it 15 to 20 for tampering with evidence in a capital case." Kellerman waves the camera.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Gharty takes a step toward his car. 

"Just stay where you are." Meldrick lays a hand on his arm. "You mind telling us what you're doing at the evidence lock-up on Christmas Eve?" 

"I might ask you the same question." 

Kay removes Meldrick's hand and moves so she's facing Gharty. "How long are you going to keep protecting him, Stu? How much more weight can you carry?"

Gharty pales and seems to shrink into his wrinkled overcoat. "I don't have a choice, Kay." 

Kay nods. "How about we go get a cup of coffee?"

****

The diner on Pulaski Highway is attached to a motel that rents rooms by the hour. The clientele isn't much to look at, but the waitress in the beehive claims that the apple pie is homemade. 

Kellerman and Meldrick sit at the counter sipping coffee and eating pie. At a booth in the corner, Kay stirs her coffee. "How did it start?"

Gharty shrugs. "How does anything like this start? Felton figured Falsone was on Cantwell's payroll. I wanted to pull him off the operation, but Felton insisted on staying. He said he could catch Falsone red-handed and wrap the whole operation up." 

"What went wrong?" 

"Eddie Dugan. He'd been two-timing me as a snitch for Falsone." Gharty pulls a napkin from the dispenser on the table and pats his sweaty neck with it. "Falsone found out that IID was on to him, next thing I get a visit from some of Cantwell's thugs. They wanted to know if I had someone inside Cantwell's operation." 

Kay eyes Gharty like he's something stuck to her shoe. "And you gave them Felton."

"No!" Gharty looks around, then lowers his voice. "No. I never gave Felton up. But I was scared. They threatened me. And then they handed me this bag of money." 

"So you just took it?" Kay asks.

"I was too scared to refuse!" Gharty's hands are shaking. He picks up his coffee and puts it back down. "I just kept my mouth shut, then when Felton was killed, I figured I was next." 

"Did Falsone kill Beau?" She knows what the answer is going to be--all the signs had been pointing to it since the beginning, if she'd only seen them. But she has to hear him say it.

Gharty looks down and nods slightly. "That's why there was no sign of forced entry. He gave Felton some bullshit about how they could work both ends of the thing as partners." 

"Did Cantwell know about this?" 

"Damn right he did. Kept saying it gave him an insurance policy. That he was set for life." Gharty takes a deep breath. "I overheard you and Lewis talking earlier today. When I found out there was a gun from Cantwell's house in evidence control, I figured it must be the one that killed Felton--Cantwell's insurance policy. But the gun wasn't there." 

Kay smiles tiredly. "There never was a gun. We made the whole thing up to try and draw you out." 

"You--" Gharty shakes his head. "I just want this over. Kay, what the hell are we going to do?"

"I'd say that's up to you, Stu." Kay spreads her hands, palms up. "Jail or your pension?" 

****

News of the arrest of Detective Paul Falsone for the murder of Beau Felton spreads through the Crimes Against Persons Division like wildfire. Many of those who know Falsone claim they never liked or trusted him. Pitbull Pete in the motor pool says he always knew the young punk was up to no good. Judy, the long-suffering day shift secretary, tells anyone who'll listen about how Falsone never contributed to the coffee fund, but always seemed to have coffee in his mug. And because Falsone confessed to the crime--after a refreshingly short interrogation by a pair of detectives from the other shift--the uniforms down in Central Booking never get the chance to give this cop killer a ceremonial eyefuck. 

In exchange for his cooperation in the Falsone investigation, Stu Gharty is allowed to retire with full pension. More than a few of his former colleagues mutter about the arrangement, but Stu still has friends with enough pull to pull it off. 

Those same friends feel it's a good time to bring some fresh talent into the Homicide unit. The new shift commander is making some changes, but it's a gradual shift. Most of the squad thinks change is long overdue, so the griping and bellyaching never gets too loud. Everyone's glad to see the vacancies on the squad getting filled and the clearance rate has never been better. This makes bosses sleep quietly and let the detectives detect unmolested. 

Meldrick Lewis is still working his cases, working his shifts at the Waterfront, and keeping his options open. He's also got a new partner. A sharp kid come down from the Philly PD. The kid's got a taste for American heavy metal, so that Cobra Meldrick's been building since 1993 is starting to look like it might actually hit the road sometime this millennium. 

Baltimore has ever been a town of cheaters and fraudsters, so the PI business is booming. But the work is losing its appeal for Mike Kellerman. A former client has recommended him for an opening as an investigator with the Baltimore County State's Attorney. It's not working for God, but the money's good and it's a small step up the ladder to redemption. Kellerman still shares pizza and ballgames and the occasional night out at the movies with Kay Howard. He too is keeping his options open. 

Lieutenant Kay Howard thinks Morgan's ready to make the move to sergeant. She's bringing him along slowly, but looks forward to the day when he'll take some of the administrative crap off her hands so she's free to make some changes of her own in the Fugitive Squad. 

Kay isn't sure her dad will ever forgive her for missing Christmas this year. But that's a guilt she can live with. 

 


End file.
